


Armistice

by Carrogath



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: “Annette…” Her voice was breathy. There was a hazy, unfocused look in her eyes that Annette chose not to acknowledge—there was no room for that here, nor time. There wouldn’t be, not now and maybe not ever. “Annette, I’m doing this for you.”“Don’t lie to me.”“For you and Sylvain, and Mercedes, and Dorothea—for everyone who’s had to suffer for lack of or because of a Crest. I am happier,” she said, leaning over the desk and placing a hand over her heart, “because I know now that my cause is just.”She squeezed her eyes shut and slowly shook her head. “You sound just like him.”One day, the people she loves will stop leaving her.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. 1181

In the summer of 1181, Ingrid returned from Galatea a failure. Not that anyone had been expecting otherwise, of course—Felix deemed it a suicide mission and was willing to bet on her death; Sylvain merely shrugged and laughed when asked about the chances of her success. Mercedes had babbled some nonsense about granting her the protection of the goddess, and had looked at Annette with an expression that she had started to interpret as condescending, before snapping her face into something hard and unforgiving and walking away before Annette could argue back. Annette had the sense that no one was even expecting her to return in one piece, if she ever came back at all.

Now, though, news swept through the northern barracks at Enbarr: Ingrid had sworn off all ties with House Galatea, and was fully committed to the Empire’s cause. Annette heard anxious giggles echoing through the stone hallways of the women’s mages’ quarters when returning from the baths that morning: Captain Galatea, yes, that Captain Galatea, she had returned from her three-month trek from Garreg Mach to Galatea, and had finally arrived back in Enbarr to report the results of her mission to the Emperor herself, and wasn’t she so _handsome_ now? Annette paused and turned around, but to no avail. The hallways were deserted.

The rest of that morning was frustratingly similar. Annette’s unit hadn’t yet been deployed, so she spent the morning running drills with her troops and taking stock of supplies in the event that they were to be sent out to the front lines. The gossip surrounding Galatea’s newly disinherited daughter flew thickly and freely—Captain Galatea fought off ten Demonic Beasts on her journey through the Oghma Mountains; Captain Galatea disguised herself as a man to sneak past the front lines at the border of Charon and Daphnel; Captain Galatea had grown an extra two centimeters and was beginning to look a bit thick about the neck.

They gossiped that she was taking a special potion that would make her body more like a man’s. They gossiped that she was secretly bedding the Emperor as a result of such changes. They gossiped that “she” had never been a “she” at all, not really, though anyone who had taken a moment to glance at her in the baths would realize that, to all appearances, she certainly looked the part of a woman. Annette was less certain about how Ingrid felt regarding the particulars of her gender—Ingrid had never divulged such indiscretions to her, at least, but Annette supposed she would have been nothing less than supportive. She wanted her comfortable more than she wanted her pretty, and if drinking special potions or carrying out secret missions or doing things to make herself look more masculine or more handsome made her happy, then who was Annette to belittle her on account of that? None of that bothered her.

What did bother her, however, was the fact that seemingly everyone in the world had managed to see Ingrid in the flesh before she did. The rumors were growing increasingly worrisome—she was two-hundred centimeters tall and carried a lance that was constantly on fire; she had sprouted pegasus wings and was now capable of unassisted flight. By noon, Annette was sure her peers were simply fabricating wildly exaggerated descriptions of her to amuse themselves, while Annette entertained her own private (if not equally troublesome) notions about how Ingrid could have possibly changed in the three months prior to her return.

It was lunchtime when Felix and Sylvain, having glanced upon Ingrid’s mystical visage for themselves, chose to bring it up with her.

“So, Annette,” said Sylvain, grinning as he elbowed Felix for room on the other side of the dining hall table, “did you see Ingrid yet?”

Annette immediately grew flustered. “No,” she said, shrinking into her seat. She opted not to repeat one of the many descriptions she had heard today of Enbarr’s newest celebrity.

Felix humphed, and stabbed into his quarter-chicken with a fork.

“Well…” Sylvain’s eyes rolled upward, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “She looks… different. Not in a bad way, I mean…”

Annette looked at Felix. He was still hacking away at his lunch in pointed silence.

“It was a pretty ballsy move, though, wasn’t it, Fe?”

Felix sliced off a hunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing for as long as possible before Sylvain’s and Annette’s prodding glances finally proved to be too much. “What?” he grunted. “The mission?”

“No, Felix.” Sylvain looked at Annette again, though she had no idea why. “You know, the…” he gestured in Felix’s direction, “the…”

Annette blinked rapidly. Something in the corner of her vision moved.

“The what?” the thing snapped.

Annette jumped and looked up. She saw a hint of jaw, a sliver of bright blonde hair. She’d thought the newcomer a man, at first, but then she saw the curve of breast through the shirt and recognized the timbre of the voice and realized who was speaking.

“Ingrid?”

Ingrid’s head turned. Her eyes were the same as ever—green as a newly-leafed tree—but her hair was so short. It’d been trimmed to just below her jaw, brushing the base of her neck at the back, and cut to frame her face in the front. Annette noticed other things too—the sharp jut of her cheekbones, the dusky complexion, the wry slant to her smile—but her heart was beating so fast and so hard it was impossible to take it all in at first glance.

“Hello, Annette.” She beamed, then, and Annette’s pulse quickened. Then she turned back to Felix and Sylvain, and said in a flatter tone, leaving the most contemptuous curl in her voice for the latter, “Felix. Sylvain.” She put down her tray on the table next to Annette’s and folded her arms. “What were you saying about me?”

“Your hair,” Sylvain replied smoothly.

“What about my hair?” she growled back.

“I… Uh…” Sylvain waved his hand around in absence of a proper response. “I was just going to compliment how beautiful it looks!”

Ingrid glared at him. His confidence was fading, as was his posture on the hard wooden bench.

“Well, you know… That’s what all the ladies are saying.” He chuckled nervously, and then sat himself upright. “But I like it. I mean, for real.” His smile evened out. “Your face used to get lost under all that hair. And it did look pretty heavy. Even your posture’s changed.”

Incredibly, Ingrid blushed. “I…” Her brow furrowed. “It was impractical. Nothing more. I’m glad to finally be rid of it all.” She sat down quickly, so close that Annette could feel Ingrid’s body heat, and began to eat her lunch.

Annette’s pulse slowed as Ingrid plowed through the rest of her meal, eating vigorously and yet somehow agitatedly, as if shoveling food in her mouth would soothe all her latent frustrations. Her head turned one degree, and then two, and the pace at which she was eating began to slow, until she had stopped chewing and swallowing entirely and was facing Annette and looking at her.

Annette picked up her napkin. “You have something on your face,” she said, and smiled and wiped it off.

Some things, at least, would never change.


	2. 1182

As the winter of 1181 melted into next year’s spring, the five of them began to leave the capital, one by one. First it was Sylvain, called to the front lines at the western border of Faerghus and Adrestia. Felix followed soon after, at the end of the Great Tree Moon. Mercedes moved back home to Fhirdiad in the middle of Harpstring, though not without some strange and obscure provisions that likely had to do with reconnaissance, or sabotage, or subterfuge, however averse to those activities Mercedes claimed to be. Ingrid left at the start of the rainy season in Enbarr, and didn’t return until the end of Blue Sea. For nearly two whole months, Annette was the most senior commanding officer in the northern barracks, all other officers having been deployed, either out to the front lines, or to fill positions in Edelgard’s provisional wartime government.

She hated it. She was praised for her clever mind and foolproof strategies, but every time she remembered that she was formulating plans to better be able to kill large formations of people, it made her a bit sick. She was turning into her father, a committed knight and a military man, and she hated it. Week after week reports flooded the barracks: a series of fruitless skirmishes at Charon, a number of Wild Beast sightings in Gronder Field, a brief engagement at the Myrddin Bridge, and casualty after casualty after pointless casualty as a result of all of them. Edelgard was testing the waters, poking and prodding at the Kingdom’s and the Alliance’s defenses. Annette knew that she would be deployed soon, and she was afraid—not that she would die, or that her friends would be hurt, but that she’d lose all sense of what was right and what was wrong in the chaos and confusion of battle. She was afraid she would learn to justify it. She was afraid she would learn to enjoy it. She had already begun to see how the war had changed her friends, had changed Felix and Mercedes, and she was worried about how it would change Ingrid and Sylvain, too. Sylvain was already beginning to lose his silver tongue and his unctuous charm, and Ingrid…

Ingrid was leaner and stronger and more focused and more confident. She smiled more and complained less often, and she’d seemed happy and fulfilled when she told Annette about the next mission she’d been assigned. She’d spoken of Edelgard and her vision with a strange zealous fervor, and praised the Emperor’s daring and courage and commitment to equality and justice. Privately, Annette thought that there was nothing just about sending hundreds of thousands of innocent people off to their deaths for the sake of one person’s ideals, but then, her father felt the same about King Lambert and his vision and his country, so maybe this was normal to believe and Annette was the one who was odd.

What she did know, however, was that whatever had changed Ingrid in those first few months of the war, the change was permanent. The Ingrid she had known at the Academy was no more, and the Ingrid of the present couldn’t be happier to be rid of her.

Being the highest-ranking officer at the time, Annette had been informed of Ingrid’s return and was expected to meet her that afternoon after Ingrid had delivered the results of her mission to the Emperor. She sat at the desk in the office that had once belonged to Sylvain, and to Ferdinand before him; there was a map of Fodlan tacked to the wall and strategic handbooks and volumes of philosophy on the shelves, and the chair was too big for her so that her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. She placed one of the larger books on the floor as a footrest, hoping that no one would notice or be offended too much; she felt out of place and undersized in a room that was ostensibly meant for dealings between tall, strong, physically-inclined men and not small, round women who liked to compose songs and study mathematics and couldn’t do much more than summon a strong breeze or two—perhaps a blustery gale, if she felt up to it.

She sat in the oversize chair in the office at the appointed time and waited, humming to herself as she twisted and untwisted her fingers and tapped out an anxious rhythm on her desk. She resisted the urge to jump when the door finally opened.

“General.” A flash of bright green.

“Ingrid.” Annette closed her eyes. “It doesn’t sound right on me, does it? The title.”

Ingrid took a seat. “The Emperor acknowledges your skill and your talent. You should be proud.”

Annette looked at her. “I’m really not.”

She couldn’t read Ingrid’s expression. She seemed disappointed, maybe. Annette felt something hard and cold settle in her stomach, and bit down on her tongue. “Your report,” she said, schooling her features, “Captain.”

Annette expected most of what she heard, except for Ingrid’s last message at the end.

“Her Majesty expects you to depart for Fort Merceus in a fortnight.”

Annette clenched her jaw. “I understand. You’re dismissed.”

Ingrid stood up, and when she did, it was as if a mask had fallen from her face. She looked worried.

“Ingrid,” Annette warned her, standing up as well.

“No, I…” Ingrid hesitated.

“I can’t be happy about this like you can.”

“I know.” She looked down. Then she looked back at the door, as if to check if it was still closed. She turned to Annette, and lowered her voice. “Why did you come with us?”

Annette’s voice was low and tight. “I didn’t want to fight you.”

“But your fa—”

She slammed a hand on her desk, clenching her jaw tight. “Don’t talk about my father.” A stray breeze swept through the room, scattering papers all over the desk and onto the floor. Annette fell to her knees and began gathering them up, and didn’t bother to look if Ingrid had had the same idea. “Don’t talk about my father,” she whispered, “don’t ever talk about my father again, please.” When she reached out for a paper that had landed between the door and her desk, her hand found Ingrid’s instead.

Ingrid swallowed and stared at her. Her gaze was watery.

Annette let go and stood up. Ingrid picked up the paper and handed it to her. Annette shuffled the papers and left them in a neat stack on the desk, and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” said Ingrid. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about…”

About what, Annette thought, her father? The war? About _Ingrid_?

She shook her head, looking away. “Never mind. That was discourteous of me.”

Annette let her eyes slide across Ingrid’s face, along her proud, sculpted features. She felt greedy. She felt ashamed.

“How long will you be here?” Annette asked, standing at the other end of the desk.

“The same as you,” she replied. “We’ll be headed to Fort Merceus together.”

Annette’s heart skipped a beat.

“My apologies—I shouldn’t have left that out in my debriefing.”

“No,” said Annette, “no, it’s fine.”

Annette opened her mouth. She wanted to ask Ingrid what she saw in Edelgard, in her vision, in her choices. What value there was to be gained in inciting so much fear and pain and violence. In dividing friends. In dividing families.

“Ingrid,” she said, “you’ve changed.”

Ingrid blushed. Did she think that was a compliment? “Oh, uh… I…” She fingered the feathery ends of her bangs. “I get that a lot.”

“Are you happier now?”

“Annette.” Her posture grew rigid.

How easy had it been for her, to throw it all away?

“Help me understand,” Annette said quietly. “You’re so brilliant that it hurts to look.”

“Annette…” Her voice was breathy. There was a hazy, unfocused look in her eyes that Annette chose not to acknowledge—there was no room for that here, nor time. There wouldn’t be, not now and maybe not ever. “Annette, I’m doing this for you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“For you and Sylvain, and Mercedes, and Dorothea—for everyone who’s had to suffer for lack of or because of a Crest. I am happier,” she said, leaning over the desk and placing a hand over her heart, “because I know now that my cause is just.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and slowly shook her head. “You sound just like him.”

“Annette!”

“I’m sorry.” She stepped back and opened her eyes, looking down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… We shouldn’t be talking about this at all. You’re dismissed, Captain Galatea. Please await any further orders from the palace, in the meantime. I’ll inform you as soon as the Fifth Mages’ Division is prepared to depart the capital. Were there any casualties in—” she paused— “never mind.” She waved her hand. “I’ll review the written report.” She made a show of sitting down and sorting the stack of papers on her desk, signaling for Ingrid to leave.

When she finally did, Annette dropped the papers onto her desk and sighed, burying her face in her hands.

Ingrid was unfair. They all were.


	3. 1183

In the summer of 1183, the Fifth Mages’ Division relocated to the Brionac Plateau to provide relief and aid to the Fourth and the Sixth. By the fall, the Sixth had been decimated, to be replaced by the Fifth. The Fifth would be replaced by the Second, led by General Hevring—first name Linhardt. Annette found herself with the thankless task of providing him the latest in logistics and intelligence.

Rain battered the canvas roof of their tent. Notable commanders of the Fifth and the Second Mages’ all gathered here now—Annette and Linhardt, naturally, but also Colonel Amherst of the Second and Colonel Germain of the Fifth, among others, crowded around the thick vellum map on the long wooden table in the center of the tent.

Linhardt leaned over the table, peering at the markers and squinting down at the text on the map. The map depicted western Adrestia from the border of Ochs to the Oghma Mountains, and up to Fort Arianrhod in Faerghus. Most of the markers were concentrated around the border of Arundel and Gaspard, with more spread along Brionac and the coast.

Linhardt’s hand hovered above one of the markers near Arundel. “So if I’m interpreting this correctly…” he said, “we’re actually losing more territory than when we first started.”

That summer had seen the start of a major offensive from the Church against the Empire—Dimitri had somehow managed to provide Rhea with resources to deploy ancient Church automatons and even a few Demonic Beasts. Edelgard, unprepared, had seen the loss of about two thousand square kilometers of Arundel territory. Upon her arrival, Annette had heard that Lord Arundel had a few more tricks up his sleeve, but that Edelgard refused to make use of them. She couldn’t imagine what could be worse than sending thousands more troops off to their untimely deaths, but from what she knew of Lord Arundel, his imagination was surely more inventive.

“The Ninth Cavalry—General Gautier’s—and the Eleventh Infantry—led by General Fraldarius—had been active in the region since last spring,” replied Annette, tapping a point between Arundel and Gaspard. “They’d been worn down after a whole year’s worth of fighting, so by the time the Church finally mobilized…” Her hand moved and pointed to two markers on the other side of the table, past Remire and ultimately off the map. “They were forced to retreat.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know why Edelgard’s been so hesitant.”

“She sent in the Faerghan divisions before she sent in the native Adrestian ones,” said Linhardt, putting both hands behind his back and straightening up. “To test the enemy’s mettle, I suppose? We’re far from done here, clearly. The Ninth and the Eleventh were replaced by the Seventh and the First—” in other words, by Ferdinand’s and Randolph’s men— “and we still have more in reserve. Edelgard likely plans to starve them out through the winter.”

“She doesn’t know what they’re like.”

Linhardt stared at her.

“We stock up food during the winter. More during wartime. We’re good at rationing… Why do you think Faerghans are trained to fight from birth? We’re prepared to wage war at any moment. To protect our borders. To protect our families. We have yet to see the full strength of the Kingdom.” Annette paused. “It may have been two years already, but the war’s hardly begun.”

“Then what would you suggest, General Dominic?” Linhardt asked disinterestedly. “We have strength in numbers.”

Annette held his gaze. “But Rhea and Dimitri will burn everything they touch to the ground.”

Linhardt cleared his throat. “We’re forgetting someone,” he said. He tapped a marker on the map, between Arundel and Brionac. “The First Aerial.”

Annette’s eyes widened. “That’s… General Galatea’s.” She blinked, and then shook her head. “Right. They haven’t received any form of backup, not since they were deployed.”

“So we’re replacing one unit of aerial forces with two units of magical ones?” He folded his arms. “I don’t see how that works out.”

“For the utility,” Annette explained. “Our aerial forces are limited, but so are our healers. We were low on healing until you arrived.”

Linhardt blinked. “She was planning to drag this out.”

“The Sixth was doing well until the Kingdom made use of the Knights of Seiros,” said Annette. “It isn’t what you’re thinking.”

“I’m surprised you’re defending her.”

“I’m not, I’m…” Annette sighed and shut her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. “Look. We’ll rendezvous with the First Aerial tomorrow. Once we have a better idea of the situation on the ground, we can decide whether to request more aerial troops from the capital.”

“Was the First Aerial as soundly defeated as the Ninth Cavalry and Eleventh Infantry?” asked Linhardt.

Ingrid was good, Annette thought. Admittedly she was better on the ground than she was leading an army, but she‘d heard stories of how Ingrid’s grit and determination had rallied her soldiers’ spirits even through the most hopeless of situations. She never led the charge from the back—always from the front—and had a certain effortless charm and charisma that made the argument for following her easy and convincing. She believed, and so her troops believed.

In some ways, that was all that really mattered.

“They’ve taken some losses,” replied Annette, “is the last I’ve heard, but nothing that might stop them from returning to the field after they’ve had a few days to recover.”

Linhardt hummed his approval. “Reassuring, then,” he said. “Good to see that at least one person knows what they’re doing around here.”

* * *

Ingrid lied.

More specifically, she had instructed her envoy to lie. Whereas Annette had been expecting a number in the thousands, what she saw was a total very probably in the hundreds—nine hundred at most. She was so stunned by the initial reports of the First Aerial’s return that she sent a guard to tell Linhardt that she had taken ill with food poisoning, and that Linhardt would have to meet with General Galatea instead.

She had other things to do, of course, other than pretend to be sick. The Fifth Mages’ was notoriously prepared and well-organized—Annette kept detailed lists of everything from food to weapons to medical supplies, requested more bullion than she thought they would actually need and usually spent it all, memorized the guards’ timetables from dusk till dawn, and ran emergency drills during downtime in the event of an ambush or other high priority operation. She kept herself busy throughout the day, remaining deep within the center of her own unit’s camp and away from the border of the Fifth’s and the Second’s, until finally Linhardt caught wind that Annette had either lied to him or recovered and she was forced to report to him and General Galatea.

Ingrid delivered her report on her back in her own personal tent.

“Oh, Goddess.”

She had suffered, Linhardt had explained, five broken ribs and a fractured hip, but through gratuitous application of vulneraries and a good bit of wine, managed to keep herself upright on her pegasus for most of the five-day trip from Gaspard to Brionac. What Annette was now witnessing was the result of proper medical treatment—which included, much to Ingrid’s dismay, quite a bit of actual pain.

She managed a weak smile through the pain, but even with treatment appeared to have trouble breathing. Annette wanted to kick her, or, alternatively, to scream. She did neither.

Ingrid’s claims were supported by the intelligence Annette received at regular intervals from House Vestra—the Seventh and the First had transitioned in smoothly, and the Kingdom was no longer gaining ground in Arundel. The Third Aerial was already en route to Gaspard as the First’s replacement. Annette held her tongue until Linhardt dismissed himself and left the tent, and then it all came tumbling out.

“You idiot. Why did you lie to me?”

Ingrid looked despondent, and how dare she. “I…” She looked away. “I didn’t want you to—”

“I worry even more when you lie! Goddess.” She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “I’m a general, Ingrid. I’m not a fucking kid anymore. I know your troops respect you and they love you and they’ll do anything you say, but this is getting ridiculous. That’s over nine thousand dead. No matter how you try to cover this up or explain it away, it’s…”

“We were prepared for this outcome.”

Annette rubbed her face with both hands. “I’d say you risk demotion, but Edelgard’s just going to fill your ranks right back up and throw you to the wolves again, isn’t she?”

Ingrid made as if to sit up, and then winced and lay back down.

“The more willing you are to put yourself out there,” she said, jabbing a finger at the flaps of the tent, “the more ready she’ll be to let you die.”

Ingrid stared at her.

Annette opened her mouth, and then closed it, looking askance. “It’s OK to retreat. Why won’t you retreat? I know we were taught that… failure is worse than death, or whatever, but it’s not. I don’t care how many fucking meters of land you think you saved. It’s not worth it.” Annette glanced up. Ingrid was looking away from her.

“They didn’t think it was a loss.”

“Nine thousand dead,” Annette hissed.

“But they believed that their sacrifice was worth it.”

Now she really wanted to scream. “You are so…” she buried her face in her hands again, “ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Tears burst from her eyes. “Those people aren’t coming back, you shit. How long are you going to tell yourself this before—no.” She wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m not going to say it.”

“I can’t disappoint them.” Ingrid’s voice was strained. “I can’t let them know my fear. If we hadn’t… Annette, we may not have returned at all.”

“I know.” Annette gasped for breath. Her throat was swollen and her eyes and nose stung, and she was already sick of crying. “I know. I’m so glad you’re safe. Ingrid, I… I don’t want you to throw your life away.”

“Annette.” Ingrid sat up and looked at her, apparently unconscious of any pain. Even in her undershirt and free of her armor or her lance, she still looked so handsome. Annette thought of hard muscle and smooth skin, the scars that she had known Ingrid to have accumulated over the years. It had been a while since Annette had seen her bare body.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No time to be thinking about that.

When she opened them again, Ingrid was still looking at her. Her gaze was painfully lucid.

“You should be prepared to lose me.”

Just like her father. Annette felt sick. She knew she was being selfish, but she couldn’t help how she felt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then turned away and left without explaining herself.

When she returned to her tent, it was already evening. She didn’t know whether she wanted to throw up or cry.

* * *

Annette awoke to the sound of movement outside of her tent. She sprang upright, readying a spell in case of an ambush, but she recognized the voice that followed right away.

“Um… I apologize if she’s already asleep, but it’s in regards to an urgent matter we discussed earlier today.”

“And what is the nature of this…”

Annette stood up and pushed aside her tent flaps. The guard assigned to her tent turned around and saluted.

“General Dominic. Ah… General Galatea wishes to speak to you.”

Annette blinked, her vision blurring and focusing in the moonlight. She couldn’t mistake Ingrid and her prideful, straight-backed posture for anyone else. Ingrid was still in her shirt and trousers from earlier that day—whatever she wanted to discuss, she apparently didn’t mind being unarmed for it.

“Ing… General Galatea,” she said, putting emphasis on the latter, “it’s very late. Can’t this wait until morning?”

Ingrid’s gaze shifted uncomfortably. “Um, no. It cannot.”

“What is it about?”

Her expression was desperate.

Annette rubbed her eyes. Something personal, then. “All right. Give me a moment.” She went back inside her tent and pinned on a cloak, and then returned outside.

Ingrid beckoned her forward. “Follow me.”

In another lifetime, Annette thought, Brionac Plateau would have been a pleasant enough picnic spot. Spruce trees grew in wild thickets, accompanied by low, dense scrub and patches of heather. In the moonlight, Annette could see that many of the wildflowers were in bloom. She imagined plucking them out and weaving them into Ingrid’s hair.

She must still be half-asleep, she decided.

The evening breeze was cool against her skin. The end of the plateau overlooked the ocean, though they were far enough inland that it was at least a day’s march to reach the water. Ingrid seemed confident about where they were going, though she seemed confident about a lot of things, including things about which she knew absolutely nothing, so Annette nevertheless followed her with some trepidation. Though Linhardt remained back at camp, it wasn’t the brightest idea to let two of their three generals go gallivanting about wherever they please. She memorized as many landmarks as she could in the dark, in case either of them were to lose their way. She couldn’t imagine why Ingrid would want to take them so far.

Ingrid settled for a small grove of spruce trees surrounded by a larger clearing, the ground covered by springy moss and lichen. She unfolded a blanket that Annette must have not noticed her carrying in the dark, and spread it out on the ground.

Was this a _date_?

“Ingrid?”

“Oh, um…” She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. “I thought this might be a long conversation, so you might want to sit down.”

“Ingrid, we’re so far away from camp,” said Annette, still standing. “Now tell me exactly why you dragged me all the way out here.”

“It’s about you.” Ingrid knelt down on the blanket, half-lounging so that her legs were spread out behind her. “About me. About… us.”

Annette swallowed. She knelt on the blanket, in the same manner as Ingrid. “Ingrid,” she warned, “you should’ve just…”

“Dropped the subject. I know. But I can’t stop thinking about what you said. About sounding like your father.” Ingrid looked down at the moss-covered ground. “He was a good man.”

Her voice shook. “It doesn’t matter what kind of person he is now. I don’t know him anymore.” She swallowed.

Ingrid looked at her. “Annette…”

She laughed and covered her eyes with her hands. “I must sound like I’m crazy, going on about him all the time. We’re going to have to fight him anyway, so… It doesn’t really matter how I feel about him now.”

Ingrid was quiet.

“Your siblings too… I mean, I hate to even mention it—but there’s a chance we might… and Felix with his father, and then there’s Dimitri.” Her voice was hard. “You might have killed some of my friends already. I just don’t fucking know anymore.” Annette stood up and stared out at the cloudless sky. “You’re right, I…” She sighed. “I’m not cut out for this. I keep thinking about what I might’ve done if I had returned home.” Annette looked back at her.

Ingrid’s expression was unreadable.

“I don’t think I would have been any happier,” said Annette. “I would have felt betrayed. Helpless. Alone. I would have understood even less of what was happening than I do now. I don’t even know if going back would have changed the way my father looks at me. Looks at us. I just…” She balled her hands into fists. “I just can’t stop seeing him in you, Ingrid. It’s driving me crazy. And you’re…” She looked down then, suddenly self-conscious. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me the way you did. And I’m sorry for doing the same. This is inappropriate.”

“Because I…” Ingrid narrowed her eyes, uncertain, “remind you of your father?”

Annette blushed. “N-no! Oh, _Goddess_ , no, not like that.” She covered her face, mortified. “Because this is a war and we are both generals and you can’t just—I can’t be interested in you. I have a duty to my troops and you to yours, and we shouldn’t be… Fuck, now I’m starting to sound like him.” She dropped the hands from her face. “We shouldn’t be selfish.”

“You’re only human,” said Ingrid, but Annette didn’t like her tone.

“That doesn’t mean we should be doing anything about it. I shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. I don’t… I’m scared, Ingrid. Everything feels like it’s going wrong, and—I’m scared.” She sighed and sat down on the blanket, pulling her knees up to her chest. “This is crazy. I can’t believe it’s already been two years; everything’s happening so fast.”

Ingrid inched up to her, and Annette swore inwardly at just how aware she was becoming of Ingrid’s presence. Her mind was spinning.

“We should do something about that.”

Annette looked at her. Her eyes were the same beautifully bright green as ever.

“Like what?”

“I…” Ingrid looked down. “I-I don’t know. Make a promise to look out for each other during the war. Or something like that.”

Annette laughed dryly. “You just told me I should be prepared to lose you.”

“But maybe I don’t have to.” Ingrid maneuvered herself carefully, swinging her legs around to her front to sit beside Annette. “I don’t want to become to you… what you think of your father now. I don’t want to be the one that leaves you out of a sense of duty or obligation. Or shame.”

“Ingrid.” Annette stared at her, stunned.

“I think what he did…” Ingrid stared into the ground, “was selfish in its own way.”

“It was extremely selfish.”

“But I understand him. That’s the thing.”

“I do too! He was still wrong,” Annette growled, “I don’t care what he thought. He didn’t do us any good by leaving us. What he did was stupid and harmful. It felt like a betrayal. Like he valued his own sense of worth over his family. Like there was any of it left to salvage at all. I don’t care if you come crawling back from battle with your tail between your legs.” Annette looked at her. “Having a sense of self-preservation is not a sin. Valuing your life over your orders is not shameful.” She fisted her hands in the dirt, dragging up clumps of moss and earth. “I just think there comes a point where it doesn’t make sense to fight anymore. We’re all just people. We all want the same things.”

“What…” Ingrid paused, “what can I do to ease your mind?”

_Kiss me_ , was the first thought that came to mind. Annette quickly dismissed it. She couldn’t think of anything not influenced by her libido—it all just seemed so pointless. Promises were a fool’s errand, she knew that. She wanted Ingrid to make her feel safe, to make her feel as if the world weren’t coming apart at the seams and as if everything and everyone she knew weren’t about to be taken away from her forever. She wanted to bury her face in Ingrid’s chest and cry. She wanted Ingrid to tell her that everything would be all right, even if it wasn’t necessarily the truth. She wanted to be lied to. She wanted the romance of it. Ingrid would readily lie to her, and she wouldn't even hesitate in doing so. She wanted Ingrid’s tongue in her mouth and her hands on her hips and she wanted, wanted, wanted.

“Why did…” Annette hesitated. Her gaze landed directly on Ingrid, first, then jumped all over her face. She couldn’t settle on a place from which to look at her. “What did you want to tell me, exactly? I kind of rambled on for a while, there.”

“Um.” Ingrid looked down, scratching her cheek. “I didn’t think it through very much, honestly. I just wanted to apologize for lying to you. And worrying you. And it was—tactically, it was completely unsound. I should have been honest with you. Goddess, that’s grounds for expulsion,” Ingrid sighed, covering her mouth. “If I’m not killed during battle, then Edelgard might decide to finish the job for me.”

“Well,” said Annette, “apology accepted. I’m sorry for unloading all of that onto you. This is war, and you did what you thought was most prudent. It might not have been the efficient option—or even the wisest—but you can learn from it, and…”

Ingrid chuckled. “You don’t have to keep telling yourself that.”

“I do,” Annette said flatly. “Don’t make light of what you did.”

“Yeah.” Ingrid looked away. “It’s too much responsibility. Responsibility I’m sure I didn’t deserve, and that I feel even less capable of handling now. I shouldn’t make light of it, but I don’t know what else to do.” She laughed again. “They died for us, Annette. They died for me. And as they did for me, so should I for them.” Ingrid looked at her desperately.

“That doesn’t help anyone.”

“Then what?”

Annette paused and blinked at her once or twice, before realizing that it hadn’t been a rhetorical question.

“If I’m not resolved to die for them,” said Ingrid, “then what?”

“You can atone for your mistakes.”

“How?”

“By living. And I know that is much harder for you than sacrificing yourself.”

Ingrid glared away from her, into the dirt.

“Is that really so difficult?” Annette’s voice cracked.

“For what?”

“For Edelgard. For your values. For your dreams of being a knight. I don’t know, Ingrid.”

Ingrid’s brow creased when she looked back at her.

“You’re really asking me?” Annette laughed, incredulously.

Ingrid said nothing.

Annette wet her lips. She knew what she wanted to say.

This was wrong, this was wrong, this was wrong.

But maybe it would help. Maybe this would give Ingrid the push she needed. To value her life. To value others’.

“Live for me.”

Ingrid sucked in deep, labored breaths, and only now Annette did realize that she was still in pain.

“Do you mean that?” Ingrid said. There was something very dark and fierce about her expression, almost possessive. Annette couldn’t decide whether she was intrigued by it or afraid of it.

“Yes.”

“Annette.” It came out in nearly a sob. “Annette, you know nothing of what you say.” Ingrid leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. Her breath was hot against Annette’s mouth.

“Try me,” she said.

Ingrid did.


	4. 1183, cont’d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: gender discussion

The winter of 1183 proved to be the mildest in Faerghus in years, and by the Lone Moon, the Empire and the Kingdom found themselves at a complete stalemate. Generals from around the country were summoned to the Imperial capital for a summit led by the Emperor herself, and Annette was no exception. Government officials and officers of all ranks entered the city on wyverns or on horseback; bright red banners flew bloody rivulets through the streets. Annette marched wordlessly behind representatives of the Eleventh Infantry—Felix’s troops—and fought the urge to shrink into herself as people watched from every corner of the street. She saw women and children, and only a few elderly men. Anyone older than thirteen or fourteen must have already been drafted into the army.

The march took a solid three or four hours from the northern entrance of the city to the palace, with no breaks in between. Annette hurried off to a toilet to relieve herself between the end of the march and the beginning of the summit; Edelgard’s obsession with pomp and circumstance was cruel to bladders and stomachs alike. Annette was hungry and exhausted and absolutely positive that, despite being present at the meeting, she would be prompted to listen much more often than she was to speak. The generals had been promised a feast mid-summit—indeed, the talks would continue afterward and likely well into the evening, if not for several days—which was the only time Annette figured she would be able to see Ingrid at all. Granted, by then, she would be difficult to miss.

Annette pushed the lavatory door open into the palace hallways and sighed.

The past several months had been, while not precisely disastrous for the country or for their relationship, _frustrating_ , in a word. Looking back, Annette had no idea what had possessed her to kiss Ingrid back when any sort of romantic relationship between them was doomed to failure; they barely saw each other and when they did, they certainly couldn’t betray the fact that they were romantically involved. She missed Ingrid’s touch and her mouth and the heat of her skin and the weight of her whole body, but she couldn’t tell anyone that she did, or that she knew that Ingrid had a mole on her left hip bone or a scar on the inside of her right thigh that puckered when she twisted it. She couldn’t tell them what Ingrid had told her—about her insecurities, about her wants, about her fears. How she loved the feeling of fire on her skin when Annette touched her and yet how she wanted to rip it off and throw it all away. They talked about her breasts. Her voice. Her sex. Gender. Pronouns. Anxiety. Frustration. There was so much Annette learned about her in so little time, in hours stolen here and there, in talks and touches late into the night when she knew they would be up before dawn the next morning. Annette loved her—or him—or them—or whatever Ingrid wanted to be called; it was frustrating to never receive a clear answer on precisely which, and Ingrid accepted the “shes” and “hers” for now, accepted being called a woman.

Still, Annette wondered. It was odd, to be on the receiving end of it—to be on the outside looking in, not quite certain of how Ingrid felt but always conscious of it, of the way Ingrid’s face colored whenever Annette remarked on her strength or her courage or her indomitable spirit. She had even tried calling Ingrid “sir,” once, only to watch Ingrid grow bright red and scramble, flustered and babbling, to the far side of their tent. There was, Annette thought, a certain indelible charm to the way Ingrid looked and behaved now, much more pronounced than it had been at the Academy. She had always admired Ingrid for her beauty and her strength, but if they had both been raw and unrefined then, they were honed to a steely finish now. Annette loved her, that was for certain. She wanted to tell Ingrid she would love her no matter what.

But that wasn’t true. Annette did care about who she became. She cared desperately about Ingrid’s identity—less about her gender and her physical appearance, and more about her values and her aspirations. She would tell Ingrid she didn’t care about labels, but she did. She didn’t care whether Ingrid called herself a “woman.” She cared whether Ingrid called herself a “knight.”

Annette traced her steps back to the conference hall in the middle of the palace, where everyone would be waiting for the summit to start. The table was much too long and too large—though really, was anything about Enbarr ever the proper size—and many people were already standing or seated. Annette found her seat next to Mercedes, and pulled it out.

Mercedes smiled at her. “Long time no see,” she said.

Annette opened her mouth and closed it again. “Hey,” she said. She fought back tears. She couldn’t remember doing anything but fighting with Mercedes until she had left for a different country entirely, and still she missed her. “How was Fhirdiad?”

“Warm,” she chuckled.

Edelgard rose, and when she did, so did the rest of the room.

The next phase of the war had begun.

* * *

At around three o’clock, Edelgard adjourned the meeting and announced that it was mealtime. The generals were ushered out of the conference room and through another series of hallways into the dining hall, where a massive spread of meats, pies, cakes, jellies, breads, fruits, and cheeses lay before them. Annette, briefly blinded by the sheer variety of delectables on display, bumped headlong into Mercedes on the way to her assigned seat.

She was as soft as Annette remembered her, even.

“Goddess, I am so sorry—” Annette looked up, only to see that Mercedes’s smile was positively _wicked_. She blushed. “Wh-what is it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Her eyes flashed with spectacular mirth. “I…” Mercedes beamed at her. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you,’ perhaps?”

“Thank you?” Annette asked. “Thank you for what?”

“For indulging me with your clumsiness.”

Annette sat down, looking pointedly away from her. Mercedes always had a way of throwing everyone off, but her abilities seemed especially potent now, for some reason. Was it because of Ingrid? Was that why she was feeling so self-conscious? Mercedes would have no way of knowing that, unless Ingrid had told her in a letter or something, but Ingrid didn’t seem the type, although Mercedes was always so good at guessing at whatever was going through Annette’s head that maybe it didn’t even matter.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Mercedes. “Letting down your guard is a luxury, in these times.” She picked up a roll from one of the platters, sliced it open, and began to butter it.

Annette watched, mainly because her hunger had dissipated sometime between the second and third hours of the meeting, but it was beginning to return the more she noticed all the food. The waxy sheen of the roast chickens, the soft nutted cheeses beside broad slices of dark bread, the huge bunches of green grapes heaped over the table—after years of rationing their supplies and surviving on nothing but wild game and hard biscuits, she could hardly believe her eyes. There was so much food.

“Annie,” said Mercedes.

Annette looked at her.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

She sliced herself a few rounds of chicken breast and some of the cheese and bread, and after a moment’s consideration plucked off some grapes and cut herself a slice of pie.

“Oh, Goddess,” Annette moaned, reminding herself to swallow, “how is it all so good?”

There was a glazed ham on the other side of the table and a whole baked fish with lemon slices, and some very red jelly far out of her reach that nevertheless piqued her curiosity. She didn’t want to overeat and pass out partway through the next half of their meeting, but her palate was starving for taste as much as her stomach was starving for food. They had at least another year of fighting ahead of them and no real end in sight, and she truly did want to indulge—in Mercedes’s company and in the feast, and in not having to oversee thousands of troops in a war, for once. In here, she could almost forget all her myriad responsibilities.

“Feels calculated, doesn’t it?” Mercedes asked quietly. “The army’s morale is flagging, so Edelgard summons us all to the capital to remind us of our apparent successes and throw us a congratulatory feast.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it, if you must know.”

Annette jumped, nearly choking on her bite of roast chicken. Standing behind them was the Emperor herself.

“Annette.” Edelgard looked between them. “Mercedes. I trust you’ve been enjoying yourselves?”

Mercedes smiled broadly. “The food? Yes. The food is quite enjoyable, thank you. Give my regards to the palace chefs. They’ve done a spectacular job.”

Annette nodded along in silence, trying to hide the fact that her last swallow had been rather arduous.

“You were paying attention during the summit, I hope?” Edelgard looked at Annette, and then Mercedes. “Forgive me; of course you two would.” She glanced over the table at another one of their companions—Caspar, who currently had Linhardt in a headlock. “Others I’d be more concerned about.”

“What brings you to this humble end of the table, if I may ask, Your Majesty?” said Mercedes.

Edelgard smiled. “Nothing in particular,” she said. “Our defenses in eastern Arundel have been watertight thanks to you, General Dominic,” she nodded to Annette, “so I must commend you for that.”

“It was nothing out of the ordinary, really,” said Annette. “I was only doing what anyone would have done.”

“You were not,” Edelgard retorted. The smile hadn’t left her face. “The inclusion of the Second Mages’ seemed almost superfluous considering how little loss of life we incurred as a result of your strategies. Your methods are quite unusual, for someone raised in Faerghus.” Annette realized that was meant to be a compliment.

“I studied Leicester warfare with Lysithea at the Academy,” she said.

Edelgard grinned. “Our other prominent mage general, yes. If I could have my way, I would have five more of each of you. You’re both quite brilliant tacticians.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Annette could sense Mercedes’s impatience. “Well,” Annette said, “if there’s anything more I could do for the sake of Your Majesty’s cause…”

Edelgard peered across the table. When Annette looked in the same direction, she could see Hubert standing at the far end, at the head of the table. The seat next to which he stood—Edelgard’s—was empty. “There may be, in fact,” she said. “Could you accompany me to my office after the meeting tonight has concluded? It won’t take long, I assure you.”

“Oh,” said Annette. “Yes, of course.” She didn’t have any other choice, really.

Edelgard smiled again. “Well, then. I’ll leave you to the rest of your meal.” She gestured to the dishes in front of them. “Please, feast to your heart’s content.” Then she turned around and departed, seeking out the next group of officers around the table to greet.

“A special mission from the Emperor,” Mercedes asked, “was it?”

Annette looked at her. Her face was unreadable. _You don’t trust her_ , Annette thought, and then she caught herself. When had Mercedes ever trusted anybody?

“What do you think it’s about?” Mercedes asked casually.

Annette wiped her mouth with her serviette. Her appetite had started to fade—which was probably good, she thought, since she’d eaten more than enough already. “Who can say?” she said. “We’re fighting the war on three different fronts—on land in Leicester and Faerghus, and on sea along the coasts.”

“But what use would she have for you?”

She dropped the cloth from her mouth and looked down. “I don’t… know.”

“I’m sure I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but in my correspondence with Her Majesty—well, not directly, but close enough—I often receive inquiries as to Byleth’s potential whereabouts.”

“Byleth.” Annette’s eyes widened. That was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time. “She’s still looking for her.” She quickly covered her mouth, and then glanced around the table. It seemed that no one had heard her.

Mercedes turned away, affecting the appearance of returning to her food. “Well, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s about that.”

Annette stared down at her plate. It had been almost three years, and all this time, Edelgard had been looking for her? Certainly, they hadn’t recovered Byleth’s body in the wreckage, and there was something odd about Byleth herself—no one’s eyes and hair just turned permanently green like that, even with the help of magic—but that didn’t mean Byleth was alive.

Or did it?

Annette picked up her wine glass and downed the rest of its contents, letting the alcohol wash over her senses. It was a fool’s errand, she wanted to tell herself. Unlikely. Impossible, even.

Yet somehow, she knew that it wasn’t.

* * *

The second session of the summit ended without incident. Annette remained seated as the others in the room began to file out. She drummed her fingers on her thighs, staring intently down at the wood grain of the table. Someone moved into the periphery of her vision—and then tapped her on the shoulder.

“Annette.” It was Ingrid. “Do you have a moment?”

Annette’s gaze flickered to Ingrid, and then to Edelgard at the head of the table. She appeared to be immersed in some sort of discussion with Hubert.

“Sorry,” said Annette. “Can it wait?”

“Oh.” Ingrid looked in the same direction. “Did Her Majesty want a word with you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you at dinner, if that’s all right?” She added a small, hopeful smile—mainly to mask her anxiety.

Ingrid’s expression mirrored hers. “All right,” she said, and squeezed Annette’s shoulder. “I’ll see you then.” She set off in the opposite direction, out the double doors and into the hallway.

Annette sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself.

What could Edelgard possibly want with her? Had she done something wrong, or worse, performed too _well_? She didn’t want any extra responsibilities apart from the ones she already had; Sylvain had been promoted to an even higher rank of general to lead a new combat formation that Edelgard called a “corps,” in the hopes of breaking through enemy lines, and she didn’t envy him. What she wanted, truly, was for the war to finally be over.

But she knew there was no way that she would ever be getting that.

She considered other possibilities: reassignment, she supposed, or a special task? Maybe Mercedes was right and this was related to Byleth somehow. The Fifth Mages’ served mainly in a support role—their ranks were mixed, neither fully offensive nor fully medicinal—and it never acted independently for any purpose. It would be easy, she thought, to promote the Colonel under her and move her to some other position, given how rarely she was expected to issue orders on her own. But to where? Would she be moved to Leicester, where Lysithea was stationed? Or would she remain in Enbarr to assist with diplomatic issues? Did it have something to do with House Dominic—worse, would Edelgard ask her to go back there?

“It couldn’t be,” she muttered under her breath, and as she did, Edelgard appeared before her.

“My apologies,” Edelgard said, “for taking a little more of your time this evening.” She took a step back. “Now, shall we be off?”

Annette followed her through a series of hallways and eventually up the stairs to a tidy-looking office of sorts. It was small, lined with several bookshelves at the back behind the desk, and on the shelves, apart from books, she spotted a globe and some foreign-looking objects made of glass or polished stone cut into funny shapes, and a few small portraits, mostly of young people. On the walls were complicated magical diagrams that she remembered Lysithea reviewing once or twice before—complex dark magic consisting of equations she couldn’t even read, let alone understand—and various maps of Fodlan covered in notes and scribblings and pins.

After taking her seat at the other end of the desk, Edelgard bade her sit. “If you would.”

Annette did. Though the chair lacked armrests, the seat cushions were surprisingly plush, and for once the chair was actually her size. Her feet even touched the ground. She folded her arms in her lap. “Your Majesty,” she said.

“General Dominic. Have you been well?”

Annette laughed. Edelgard didn’t even flinch at the sound. “About as well as anyone could be, I suppose.” Annette couldn’t read her face, but she did get the sense that Edelgard’s next question would be a difficult one.

“I’ll keep this brief.” Edelgard produced a note, creased in the middle so that it appeared to have been folded, and slid it across the table. “You remember Professor Byleth, yes?”

“I do,” replied Annette. While Edelgard spoke, she skimmed the note.

“We know that the professor went missing at the Battle of Garreg Mach at the end of the year 1180. However, we never managed to recover her body. There were also traces of powerful magic found at the site where the professor was last seen. We have reason to believe she’s still alive.”

Annette looked up at her. “I see,” she said.

“That being said,” Edelgard continued, “if we suspect that Byleth is still alive, then our enemies most assuredly do as well.” Here, she paused. “Do you know of the Agarthans?”

She recalled reading the name in a book once, poring over one of the monastery’s many ancient texts, but she couldn’t remember the context. “I only recognize the name.”

Edelgard’s lips stretched into a thin smile. “They’re an ancient race of humans that coexisted with the Nabateans—those of St. Seiros’s tribe. Using advanced technology, their civilization has persisted in secret to this day. The Agarthans are our enemies as much as the Church is. But for now, they are also our allies.”

“Are they…” Annette paused. “Are they like… Kronya? And Solon?”

Edelgard nodded. “But Rhea is using technology from that era as well. We have no choice but to ally ourselves with the Agarthans if we wish to defeat the Church.” She paused again. “We’ve been searching for Byleth’s body in secret. But she may be trapped in a… shall we say, a kind of magical barrier. Perhaps the magic that caused her eyes and hair to change color is protecting her, for now. Perhaps she was so severely injured that her body needed time to recover. I don’t know. What’s most important is that we find Byleth before they do. Else we may find one of the most powerful beings in the history of Fodlan turned against us.”

Annette took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “How exactly… does this concern me?”

“I want you to buy time for us,” said Edelgard, looking her in the eyes. “Plant false leads, disseminate disinformation—you command one of the most mobile ground units in the Imperial Army, and you aren’t fighting on the front lines. We need you to create enough noise that the Agarthans are hampered in their search, either until we find Byleth ourselves, or until the war is won.”

“I…” She blinked. “I suppose that’s not a lot to ask, no.”

Edelgard smiled. Annette could see no mirth in it. “You seem doubtful. Do you not believe Byleth could still truly be alive?”

“Oh,” Annette chuckled, “who can say? I mean… We saw Rhea turn into a dragon of her own free will and talk in that form and everything, and I hadn’t thought that was possible, either. And there’s a lot we don’t know about magic. If there’s… a secret magical barrier protecting Byleth from the rest of the world, then who am I to deny that? I simply don’t know enough to question it.”

“I see.” Edelgard was inhumanly still. Only her eyes seemed to move. “I would like to frame this as a tactical decision—morale would be greatly improved by the return of the one who wields the Sword of the Creator, and Byleth is a masterful tactician and warrior in her own right—but in truth, it’s mostly personal.” She looked down then, and her expression turned wounded, brittle. “The world lost its color that day.”

Annette bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” Edelgard shook her head, “there’s no time to dwell on the past. And you and your companions have had to face much worse, I’m sure. Hubert will brief you on your new tasks after dinner. Please see him after you have finished eating.” She stood, retrieving the note from the other side of the desk. “That is all. You’re dismissed, General.”

Annette stood up. Edelgard didn’t budge from the desk. “May I have permission to speak frankly, Your Majesty?” she asked.

Edelgard nodded.

“How important is it to you that we find Byleth? Say Byleth’s body is never recovered. Say… that the worst possible outcome occurs, and the Agarthans find her first, after all. Do we still have a chance at victory?”

Edelgard’s smile was cruel, then.

“We do,” she said. “But I’d suggest you not inquire any further on the details.”

Annette stood her ground. She had to ask now, or she might never have the chance again.

“If you find her,” she asked, “could you stand to lose her again?”

“Is this about your father, Annette?”

Edelgard may as well have stabbed her in the chest.

She clenched her jaw, balling her hands into fists so tightly her nails bit into her skin. “We’ll win,” she said. “We definitely will. I’ll make sure of it.”

Edelgard nodded in approval. “I would expect no less.”

* * *

Dinner passed in a flavorless, soundless blur. She only remembered mumbling another excuse to Ingrid about why they couldn’t see each other yet before regrouping in a small, windowless, possibly magicked room with Hubert to discuss the details of her new task, and then was summarily expelled from said room to do whatever she pleased with the last few remaining hours of the night.

Annette rubbed her eyes as she stood in the darkening hallway. Her head thrummed with a dull ache, and her mind was spinning with Hubert’s elaborately crafted ruses and schemes. They’d had everything planned out in advance, with contingency plans and countermeasures and emergency contacts in every territory on the continent—even in the heart of Blaiddyd. She was to keep everything in her head, and, if she absolutely must write it down, it had to be enciphered, so that even if it were stolen the thief wouldn’t be able to understand its contents right away. Hubert left her with one final, vaguely worded threat, something about bringing harm to Her Majesty, though Annette couldn’t imagine wanting to hurt Edelgard for any reason whatsoever. She assumed that Hubert issued the same threat to anyone working closely with Her Majesty; at the rate he was going, he probably even told it to himself.

Annette turned to her right and took a few steps, and then turned around and walked in the other direction. She looked at herself in the glass, and saw that her reflection was suffuse with candlelight. And also, that she didn’t recognize her surroundings and that she was totally lost.

She tried the room she had left from, but of course the door was locked. She knocked, but received no answer. Hubert could actually teleport, so there was no way of knowing whether he was even still inside. She groaned and slumped against the door.

“Oh, for crying out loud…”

All that bluster, and she couldn’t remember how she’d even gotten here.

After a minute or two of feeling sorry for herself, Annette stood up and brushed off her skirts. They had just had a huge summit. The palace was filled with people. She could do this.

She turned to her left, and began walking.

“Are you trying to return to your room?” Annette froze. “The guest rooms are in the other direction.”

Annette’s eyes focused in the dark. There was no way.

“Ingrid?” She gaped. “H-how did you even know…”

“Oh.” Ingrid tossed a look over her shoulder. “It wasn’t a coincidence, believe me.” There was something in her hand. Annette looked down. “Lysithea and Edelgard are having some kind of… spat, so when I asked her about it she gave me the details. You’re on a secret mission for the Emperor, I take it?”

“Yeah,” said Annette. “Y… Yes. Not so secret anymore, I suppose.”

“She wouldn’t give me any of the details, but she listed off a few rooms where I might be able to find you. It looks like I arrived just in time.”

Annette looked up at her. “Lysithea and Edelgard are fighting?”

“The way that close friends do,” said Ingrid. “You might have some idea.”

Mercie, Annette thought.

“I…” Ingrid clutched the object in her hand. “You left this.” She held it out. “In… my tent. About a month ago. I kept it safe.”

Annette stared at it. “Is… is that all?”

Ingrid blinked at her. “Annette, don’t you recognize it? It’s your favorite doll. The one that your—”

“I know what it is,” she said defensively. “I just…” She ran a hand over her face. Of course it wouldn’t make any sense to tell Ingrid she didn’t want it anymore. She hardly understood how she felt about it herself.

“I understand,” said Ingrid. “Perhaps it doesn’t make sense to keep it around, after all.” She sighed and looked down at it.

“I’ll take it,” said Annette. She held out her hand, and when Ingrid passed the doll to her, their hands touched. Her neck blazed with heat. Then, when she looked down at the lifeless face of the doll, she felt sick. It was a terrible combination.

Ingrid was quiet as she watched her. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?”

Annette followed her up the stairs, and they found a balcony on the second floor. The air was cool against her skin—not cutting, not like Faerghus, but balmy and invigorating. Sea winds, Annette thought, that rolled in with the sun and the waves. How different must it have felt to have been raised here, in such a warm, inviting place?

They stood side by side, shoulders barely touching. Ingrid leaned against the railing, while Annette grasped it between her fingers. The metal was cold, steady. Reassuring.

“I have the sense,” Ingrid said, “that we won’t be seeing each other very much from now on.”

Annette looked down. The doll was still clutched in her arm. Like a child.

“I’ve been assigned to Sylvain’s new corps, and you… well… you’re working closely with the Emperor, now.” Out of the corner of her eye, Annette could see Ingrid looking at her. “I’d expected this.”

Annette had, too, and yet it hurt to hear.

“I’d expected this,” Ingrid continued, “but I haven’t accepted it yet. It was hard being with you—but it’ll be harder without you. My fear is that I’ll return to my old ways of thinking.” She lifted an elbow up off the railing, and covered Annette’s hand with her own. “The way I thought before you found me.”

Annette looked up at her.

“I worry about you, you know.” Ingrid squeezed her hand. “I know I’m not very good at recognizing how you feel, but I’m trying, and the fact that I’m not good at it makes me worry all the more. I want to be good to you. I want to be good _for_ you. And even though we’ll be apart, I don’t want you to feel as if you’re alone. I wish… I wish I’d thought of something to give to you. Something like that.”

Annette looked back at the doll. “Why,” she laughed bitterly, “so then when you finally abandon me I’ll have something to remember you by?”

“Annette!” Her tone was scolding. It was ironic.

She buried her face in her elbow. “I keep thinking about something Edelgard said to me… about what she’d do if her friends turned against her.” Shame on her for even prompting the conversation, really.

“I would never—”

“I’m talking about my father.”

Ingrid’s grip loosened on her hand. Annette brushed it away.

“I have to be prepared to kill him if I see him. He’ll most certainly try to do the same.”

“You don’t know…”

“This is war.” Annette looked up at her. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You almost died. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget the mistakes that you made. Don’t forget the people who died for you, so that you could survive, and so that you could learn from their sacrifice. I… I can’t rest until the war is over.” She rubbed her face with the back of her hand. “I… I have a job to do; I can’t… I can’t be thinking about you like this, Ingrid.”

“Annette?” Ingrid sounded heartbroken. Annette couldn’t look back at her.

“If we lose, then everything we’ve done will have been for naught,” said Annette. “Every loss of life, every day spent agonizing over the decisions that we’ve made, all the preparations, all the hard work we’ve done, all the people we’ve killed—everything! It means nothing if we lose. What does it matter if you love me—what does it matter if we’ve turned against our own families—what does it matter that you’ve found something to live for if it doesn’t materialize for you ever?” She sniffled and looked down at the stone floor beneath them, suspended over nothing. “It’s just another thing I’ll live in fear of losing.”

“Annette, no.”

“Forget about me.”

“Annette, I can’t.”

“We won’t even see each other anymore. You might die—or I might die—and then what will be left of us? I might get a note, or I might not hear about it for months, and what will I be left doing before then? Making myself sick with anxiety.” Annette took a step back. “Your duty is to your soldiers.”

“Annette,” Ingrid turned around, “that’s not what you told me before.”

“I told you to live.”

“For you,” Ingrid said. She was crying. “You told me to live for you.”

Annette trembled. Her grip on the doll was loosening.

“You can’t tell me to forget about you now. I can’t. That’s not what you said.”

“And if I die? Don’t tell me that you’d off yourself, too.”

Ingrid stared at her, eyes wide.

“It was never about… just latching onto something, or someone, for the sake of it. I told you that so that you’d stop making careless decisions. I was just…” Annette clenched her hands into fists, and then released them. “I was just upset. I said some things on impulse—” she was lying through her teeth and she knew it— “and… this has to stop.”

“Annette, I can’t. I won’t. I absolutely refuse. You don’t understand what you’re saying,” said Ingrid, and began walking toward her.

“Then don’t,” Annette said through her teeth.

Ingrid was clutching her hand between both palms.

“But I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Ingrid’s grip slackened, and Annette pulled her hand free and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” said Annette, and turned around and walked back through the hallway until she reached the stairs.

When she turned around to check behind her, no one was there. She looked down at her arms.

The doll was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Done for an art trade with J (@jireemblem on Twitter).


End file.
